


Wind It Up

by tinsnip



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Gen, Provocation, Teasing, julian always takes the joke too far, just a friendly lunch, sprouts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 21:18:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5221163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinsnip/pseuds/tinsnip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Garak and Bashir share a plate of sprouts, and Julian learns not to kid a kidder.</p><p>Apologies are offered to Gwen Stefani, who earwormed me with <a href="https://youtu.be/9sY-TsLXiDo">Wind It Up</a>, and who really deserves better than this silly business.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wind It Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Raven Ehtar](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Raven+Ehtar).



> For Raven Ehtar, who deserves a giggle.

_i know you think he's fine and stuff_ _but does he know how to wind you up?_

* * *

It was happening. It was definitely happening, and it was happening right in front of him. It was happening right in front of him and he wasn't sure what to do about it.

It wasn't as if the situation was time-sensitive, exactly. No lives hung in the balance. Still, Elim Garak did not, on the whole, know exactly how to react.

Julian Bashir, between moderately-well-argued statements about the accuracy of Xol's observations on sapience and culture, was stealing food from his plate.

At first he'd thought perhaps, in the heat of the argument, he'd misjudged the size of his serving. One vetU sprout looked very like another, and when they were tumbled into a little pile, well, who knew exactly what was on their plate? A smaller serving than expected was a nice problem to have for a man who was watching his waistline.

But then he'd looked away as he'd gestured to illustrate a point, and when he'd looked back, Bashir had been tucking something into his mouth. Something purple. Something… vetU.

And he'd been… smiling.

This wasn't, as far as Garak was aware, a typical thing to do in Human culture. He hadn't seen either of the Siskos snatch food from anyone's plate, or any of the myriad O'Briens, not to mention the plethora of other Humans that saturated the station. No, Humans shared food much like Cardassians did: a polite request or a polite offer, a shared bite, and that was that, and so it seemed odd that Bashir would—

—would do it _again!_ In front of Garak's own eyes! With a _grin!_

"Doctor," he said out loud, and then immediately chided himself. Internally, of course; externally he knew he was genial, amused, and meanwhile _how obvious, you just did what he expected you to do._ It felt like a surrendered point in their little game.

Bashir, meanwhile, was taking his time finishing his bite. He swallowed with every evidence of enjoyment. "Yes?"

"What exactly do you think you're doing?"

His brows rose. "I'm going to need you to be slightly more specific."

Ah, how droll. "With your fork."

Now Bashir held the offending article of cutlery up in front of him, affecting innocent confusion. "What, this fork?"

"None other."

"I'm eating."

"You are indeed."

A blink, a drawn-out pause. "I'm sorry, is that not permitted today?"

Oh, he was in a rare mood indeed. "You are eating from my plate."

"Oh. _Oh,"_ said Bashir, as if just realizing it himself. "Oh, I _am._ Yes. Yes, that's true."

And then he smiled, shrugged, speared another sprout and popped it into his mouth, eyes never leaving Garak's, and this was _astonishing!_

"Doctor, I really must—"

Bashir's eyes glinted amusement, and Garak bit his tongue.

_Wait. No._

The reason he'd never seen any other Human do this was because no other Human would do this. It was incredibly impolite. It was something that in both Human and Cardassian culture would only be done to provoke a reaction.

_So he wants a reaction, does he?_

He smiled. Widely. "Pardon my outburst. Do go on."

That had, apparently, not been the reaction Bashir had expected. He now had a mouthful of vetU sprout and a slightly confused expression. "Sorry?" he said indistinctly, and Garak waved it away.

"Please do continue. I enjoy watching you eat."

Oh, even better: now a mouthful of vetU sprout and pinkish cheeks, and the best part was that Bashir was not one to back down from a joke gone too far. Up came the fork to hover questioningly over the little mound of sprouts, and Garak pursed his lips and lifted a finger.

"Why not… that one?"

Bashir's face was a study. "If you're sure…"

"Oh, never more so, my dear doctor. We can't have you going hungry."

One by one Garak directed the march of sprouts into Bashir's increasingly amused mouth, and when the plate was clean, he smiled as Bashir slanted a look down at his ignored, slightly congealed lunch, then looked up, laughing.

"I don't suppose you'd like—"

"No, thank you," said Garak lightly. "I think I will probably replicate myself a new plate of sprouts. Unless, of course, you'd like to eat that one as well."

"Are you going to feed that one to me too?"

"I could be talked into it."

That made Bashir grin, a worthwhile reward in itself. "Why is it when I try to wind you up it always ends with you winding me up instead?"

"Wind me up?"

"Oh," said Bashir, and frowned for a moment. "It means to tease. Or to provoke someone. To try to get a reaction. But done affectionately, I assure you."

_Wind me up indeed._

"You wanted to provoke a reaction from me?" Garak leaned closer, widening his eyes solicitously. "Am I not paying you enough attention, my dear doctor? No need for trickery; you've only to ask..."

Ah ha: pink cheeks again, and one lost point regained.

* * *

_yodelei yodelei yodeloo!_


End file.
